Cuffs
by verdandii
Summary: "She tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling him down on top of her. He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling on the floor, looking at the ceiling. 'We're doomed,' he told it..." DRR-*ish*


Title: Cuffs  
Author: sparkle*  
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com  
Rating: PG-13  
Category: S  
Spoilers: 9th season, Roadrunners, Via Negativa  
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, DRR UST  
Summary: She tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling   
him down on top of her. He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling   
on the floor, looking at the ceiling. "We're doomed," he told   
it...  
Disclaimer: Not mine, but then again, CC left them stranded in the   
desert. At least Mulder and Scully got a motel room...  
Author's Note: *This* is the longest fic I have ever written. Or   
attempted. And also the most DRR-ish I've written so far. So   
PLEASE gimme feedback.  
***  
  
It was a Friday like any other Friday. The two agents gathered   
their belongings and headed out of the office, later than they   
should. But, then, it wasn't as though either of them had   
anything to go home to. They enjoyed each other's company.   
Especially at the start of what looked to be another long, lonely   
weekend.  
  
They were both relatively happy as they got on the elevator to go   
up to the parking garage, continuing their earlier conversation   
about the cases they'd just received.  
  
"I *really* think we should investigate this crop circle thing,"   
Monica stated flatly, although she only half meant it.  
  
He shot her a look. She just laughed.  
  
"C'mon, John, we haven't gotten any interesting cases in *weeks*.   
We haven't even been out of the basement in almost two months.   
It'll be fun...and you know you want to see an actual, honest-to-  
goodness crop circle. They're interesting! They're not...staring   
at a desk all day.  
  
"Monica, they're the result of farmers being bored out of their   
minds..." he protested.  
  
Before she got a chance to reply, the elevator doors opened and   
they both stepped out into the darkened parking garage. It was   
almost empty by now, and they headed in the direction of their   
cars, which happened to be relatively close to each other.  
  
"C'mon, John. Just *one* crop circle case? Please...?" she   
begged.  
  
"Okay, okay, we'll do a crop circle case..." he trailed off, not   
really paying attention. But Monica didn't notice at first,   
wrapping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing him in a kind   
of hug, saying, "John Doggett, you're my hero." He didn't answer.   
The parking garage was suddenly full of an eerie silence. Monica   
frowned.  
  
"What is it?" she asked quietly.  
  
"See that white van? That...That shouldn't be here," he whispered   
vaguely. He couldn't explain it, but something felt very wrong.   
His hand moved to the gun on his hip.  
  
Monica followed his lead, drawing her gun from her back. They   
both approached the van cautiously. The had nowhere to hide,   
seeing as their two cars and the white van were just about the   
only vehicles in the garage.  
  
Suddenly, out of nowhere--out of the shadows--jumped six men, two   
with very dangerous-looking automatic guns in their hands.  
  
John and Monica started to back away, guns still in hand, but one   
of the unidentified men, dressed in a suit--they were all dressed   
in black--gestured for them to stop and put their guns down. The   
two men with machine guns trained them on the two agents.  
  
"Please just be cooperative," the man-in-charge yelled to them.  
  
But they continued to back away.  
  
"Who are you?" John called out.  
  
"That is not your concern. You have not cooperated," he said   
sighing. He motioned at his men, and four of them rushed at the   
two agents.  
  
John turned to run, grabbing Monica's wrist as he went, as if to   
be sure she wouldn't fall behind or be separated from him. She   
had no problem matching his pace, but their flight was stopped   
short. More men dressed in black were coming at them from all   
sides. They were surrounded.  
  
Within minutes, they were being restrained by four burly men.   
They both struggled a little, but after John was gut-punched, and   
Monica was shook around, they both relented for the time being.  
  
The man in the suit walked over to them.  
  
"Very good. I see we did not need your cooperation after all."  
  
***  
  
"Take them to the van."  
  
The two agents struggled against their captors until the machine   
guns were trained on them again.  
  
The men wrestled them into the back of the van, closing the doors   
behind them. They swayed from side to side as the van pulled out   
of the parking garage and sped away.  
  
Not five minutes into their ride, one of the men reached into a   
case at his feet. He fished around for a minute, and Monica   
craned her neck to get a glance at what he was doing. She found   
out soon enough. The man produced a syringe which neither of them   
thought was a very good idea. Were it not that they were both   
still being held still by two men each...  
  
The man moved to John first. Monica watched in horror as they   
injected the whole syringe into his arm. She kept her eyes on   
John as the man went back for another one.  
  
She felt the needle in her arm and closed her eyes slightly in   
defeat. She looked back at John. His eyelids were already   
drooping. Then they were closed.  
  
"John. John!" She tried to wake him... "John-" ...and got hit in   
the mouth with the butt of one of their guns. She bit her lip and   
tasted blood. Her vision swam before her eyes. She tried to   
focus on John's face, but she couldn't. And she couldn't stop   
blinking. Then her eyes were closed.  
  
***  
  
When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the barely visible   
gray walls of an empty room. The only light came from a window   
high on the wall behind her.  
  
She closed her eyes again.  
  
She felt rope digging into her wrists and metal handcuffs around   
her ankle, pulling her leg crooked. Her other ankle was tied to   
the wooden leg of the bench she was sitting on. Another rope dug   
painfully into her abdomen. But whatever her back was leaning   
against was softer...and was breathing.  
  
"John?" she whispered softly.  
  
He didn't answer.  
  
She leaned back, and then jerked forward suddenly, trying to wake   
him up. He grunted.  
  
"John? John, wake up." She raised her voice a little this time.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Are you awake?"  
  
"Yeah...I think..."  
  
She tested the rope knotted around her wrists.  
  
"How well are you tied up?" she asked.  
  
"Pretty well."  
  
Her rope was getting a little looser.  
  
"I think I can get my hands free..."  
  
"Hurry up. I can barely breathe with this rope..."  
  
"Don't breathe then," she said as she concentrated on her rope,   
twisting her hands, trying to work one through the loop.  
  
"Very funny."  
  
A few minutes later her wrists were nearly raw, but she managed   
to get one hand free.  
  
"There." She let the rope fall off her other hand and she tried   
to bend to untie the rope around her ankle.  
  
John grunted again.  
  
"Monica," he said. His voice was strained.  
  
"Oh. Sorry," She quickly sat back up. "How are we supposed to   
get out of this rope?" She motioned at the one tying them back-  
to-back, even though he couldn't see her.  
  
"Untie the knot?" he offered, as if it were obvious.  
  
"Where's the knot?"  
  
"Just slide the rope around until you find it..."  
  
"Good idea...found it." She worked at the knot a few minutes. "I   
can't get it John. It's not untying."  
  
"Are you sure? Keep trying."  
  
"Okay...but this is tied really weird..."  
  
"Wait, Monica, get your ankle free first. I got an idea. We lift   
the bench, and slide our ropes off the end of the bench legs.   
Okay?"  
  
"Okay. Ready? Go."  
  
After a few attempts, they both had one of their ankles free.   
Then they realized that their other ankles were both   
handcuffed...to each other. Monica sighed.  
  
"This is going to be impossible."  
  
"Don't be so pessimistic," John said. "That's my job.--Okay,   
let's try standing up."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They both slid sideways off the bench and leaned back against each   
other to stand up. The rope around them seemed to be a little   
looser now. That meant the knot was going to be tighter.  
  
"John, do you think if I could untie your hands, you could untie   
this other rope?"  
  
"Yeah, but what makes you think you can untie my hands?"  
  
"Hang on. I think I can turn around in this thing..."  
  
John held still, and she twisted around inside the loop of rope   
until she was facing John's back, with her ankles crossed, due to   
the cuffs. It occurred to her that it might have been more   
beneficial to be in front of him where his hands were, but she   
wasn't about to try and move again.  
  
She hesitated a moment and then wrapped her arms around him,   
reaching for his hands. She craned her neck to see over his   
shoulder.  
  
She turned the rope around so that the knot was facing her and   
fingered it thoughtfully for a second. No wonder John   
couldn't get out of his knot so easily. He had big hands, she   
noticed.  
  
-Concentrate, concentrate,- she mentally reprimanded herself. She   
set to work on the knot and soon realized it wasn't going to be   
any easier than the other one. But then again...  
  
"Here, gimme your hands..." She pulled them up and back, over his   
shoulder. He frowned, confused.  
  
"Why--?" Then he felt her breath on his hands as she bit into the   
rope, loosening the knot with her teeth. Then she untied it and   
threw the rope on the floor, and he retracted his arms.  
  
He immediately set to work on the last rope, and Monica stood   
watching him, resting her chin on his shoulder.  
  
His big hands had the knot untied in no time, and they both   
started to move away from each other, enjoying their new freedom.  
  
They forgot about the cuffs on their ankles.  
  
John went to put his right foot in front of his left and ended up   
knocking Monica to the floor. He, in turn, lost his balance and   
fell next to her. He turned to check and see if she was okay.  
  
She was laughing.  
  
He just stared at her. She caught his eye and just started   
laughing harder. She rolled away from him, pulling his leg with   
her. He pulled it back and she rolled toward him onto her back.   
She stared at the ceiling, still laughing.  
  
He kept on staring at her.  
  
She kept laughing.  
  
Then he smiled. He couldn't help it. The whole thing was so   
ridiculous, even though it shouldn't normally be even remotely   
funny. Besides that, Monica sounded like she'd gone off the deep   
end.  
  
Then he realized there was a good chance they were being watched.   
But then, why hadn't guards come in to hog-tie them again? The   
door had no window, and there didn't look to be any hidden   
cameras. -The point being,- he thought to himself, -that they are   
*hidden.*- Still, he relaxed a little, but thought they should be   
more careful.  
  
"Monica," he hissed.  
  
She'd started to calm down, and now she looked at him quietly, but   
with a goofy grin still charming her features. Then she frowned.   
John frowned back at her.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
She hiccuped. -Oh no.-  
  
"I have the hiccups," she stated, matter-of-factly. Then she   
started to giggle again.  
  
"Monica."  
  
"Sorry, John, I-" She hiccuped again. "-I'm sorry..." She was   
still smiling. "What?"  
  
"If we're going to get out of here...How are we going to get out   
of here?"  
  
She turned her head to look behind her at the solid metal door   
that, in all likelihood, was locked.  
  
"I dunno, John." He sighed. She hiccuped.  
  
"I think we should practice walking in these things," he said,   
eyeing her suspiciously. She hiccuped again.   
  
"Okay."  
  
"We're gonna hafta run in them if we're gonna get out of here..."   
He tried to convey the seriousness of the situation to her.  
  
"We're doomed," she said decisively.  
  
He just looked at her.  
  
"I'm kidding, John. Don't worry. I haven't lost it."  
  
She hiccuped. He gave her a look again.  
  
"I was starting to wonder."  
  
He stood up carefully, and reached down to help Monica up, who was   
still sprawled on the floor.  
  
"Okay, now...left first. I mean my left, your right...*outside*   
first, then inside."  
  
"Right."  
  
Walking was no problem. Running however...  
  
***  
  
"That's the fiftieth time..." John commented as they both sat on   
the floor after tripping, trying to run.  
  
He was answered by silence. He looked at Monica. She was   
studying the opposite wall silently.  
  
"Hiccups are gone," she said.  
  
"At least some good has come of all this--"  
  
"Let's go again."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.  
  
"Just one more time."  
  
She stood up, and he followed.  
  
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.  
  
"We'll get it this time."  
  
"We have to."  
  
"Okay. Ready, set...go!"  
  
They started off a little slow, concentrating on their feet,   
running around the perimeter of the room. A lap or two into their   
run they hit their stride and sped up, each perfectly synchronized   
to the other's movements.  
  
Then they came up on a corner of the room, no problem, they'd   
turned every corner many times already. But this time Monica   
turned too sharply, in front of John. Before he could stop, she   
tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling him down on   
top of her.  
  
He didn't move. She squirmed under him.  
  
"John," she grunted, trying to wriggle out from underneath him.   
"Get off."  
  
He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling on the floor, looking up   
at the ceiling.  
  
"We're doomed," he told it, as if he expected an answer.  
  
"Shhh..."  
  
He looked at Monica. She had her ear to the floor, listening.  
  
"What?" he whispered.  
  
"Someone's coming."  
  
Alarm was written all over his features.  
  
"It sounds like just one person, though."  
  
Now he could hear the footsteps ringing on the tile floor outside   
their room. He motioned for her to get up. They both moved to   
the door, standing behind it, ready for whoever was coming.  
  
They heard the key turn in the lock, and the door swung slowly   
open...  
  
As soon as the man set foot in the room, they were on him. John   
grabbed his gun and Monica gave him a right hook to the jaw. She   
dodged one of his punches, and then John delivered a blow to the   
head that knocked the guy out.  
  
They tied his body to the bench with the rope that had tied them   
together, then tied his hands behind him, and gagged him. They   
looked for a key to the cuffs, but the only thing he had on him   
was the key to the room.  
  
Monica pocketed the key, just in case it should prove useful   
later, and John slung the gun over his shoulder. Then they   
carefully made their way to the door and out into the empty halls.   
John checked the gun, and saw, to his surprise, that it was empty.   
There didn't seem to be any surveillance equipment or guards,   
though, and they proceeded fairly quickly.  
  
It took them a good fifteen minutes to find a door and get   
outside. It was all rather anticlimactic for an escape. Until   
they opened the door.  
  
John had barely set one foot outside when an alarm sounded. They   
looked at each other and took off running, unsteadily. They ran   
across a field and through a thin patch of trees. On the other   
side of the tress, they found a busy road with bumper-to-bumper   
traffic waiting for a green light. Monica looked back to the   
warehouse they'd just escaped from to see a bunch of men getting   
in a white van identical to the one that had taken them.  
  
"They're coming," she said to John, who was studying the traffic.  
  
"C'mon. I got us a ride."  
  
She followed beside him as they crossed the road of stopped cars   
and walked up the other side. They were approaching a motorcycle,   
and Monica was getting a bad feeling.  
  
John walked up to the man sitting on the motorcycle, putting a   
hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Excuse me." He punched him and quickly laid the man in the grass   
on the side of the road, getting on the bike as they saw the white   
van pull onto the street.  
  
"Monica." He motioned at the part of the seat in front of him.   
She was going to have to sit backwards, due to the cuffs. "Sit   
here, so you won't fall of the back of the bike." She quickly   
sat, facing him.  
  
A split second later he took off. The sudden motion sent her into   
Doggett, and she was suddenly glad she wasn't on the back, or she   
*would* have fallen off by now. She stayed leaning against him   
and wrapped her arms around him to steady herself. She looked   
over his shoulder at the approaching van.  
  
"They're still coming."  
  
They were on the shoulder of the road and he sped up, bypassing   
cars as they went. He ran the red light, narrowly missing an SUV   
coming from the other road that was running a yellow one.  
  
The light behind them turned green.  
  
The white van was still coming.  
  
There were cars in front of them, so John had to slow down a   
little, weaving in and out of lanes, between cars. Then he took a   
side street, and another, and another...  
  
"How's it look back there?" he asked.  
  
"Still coming last time I saw them, but they're a little behind.   
I don't see them right now."  
  
He turned a few more corners until he found an alley to hide in.   
They waited to see if the white van would pass. Monica scratched   
her neck. John looked at her, at her neck. Seeing something, he   
looked closer. She backed up, looking back at him.  
  
"John? What?"  
  
"There's this thing..." He brushed his fingers against the side   
of her neck where she'd been scratching. It was red, and there   
was a bump. A square shaped bump.  
  
"It's just a bug bite..." she was saying.  
  
"No. Feel that? Looks like an implant or something..." He   
trailed off, looking at her.  
  
"They're tracking us," she said suddenly. "John, you've got to   
get   
it out."  
  
"Get it out?" He was having nightmarish flashbacks of Scully in   
New Mexico with a worm in her back...  
  
"John, look at me. They're going to find us. It's just under the   
skin. Just..." She paused uncomfortably. "use your pocketknife   
or something. Or here, give it to me."  
  
He reluctantly reached in his pocket, half-surprised to find it   
was still there.  
  
"Don' want you to stab yourself," he said quietly. He tilted her   
head a little and made the tiniest little cut near the implant,   
and then as gently as possible, he removed it, throwing it back   
into the garbage lying in the back of the alley. She looked at   
his neck, not finding any evidence of an implant.  
  
"C'mon, let's go."  
  
She gently touched her neck for a second before wrapping her arms   
back around him as they took off. They both prayed they wouldn't   
be found now.  
  
After winding their way through the city blocks, they found a road   
going out of the town and took it. After a while they came to a   
small strip mall.  
  
"Stop!" Monica said suddenly. John pulled over. The closest   
store was a craft shop and Monica dragged John inside, hoping   
their cuffs wouldn't be too noticeable. She quickly found her way   
to the marker aisle and took an open marker and a piece of paper.   
John looked at her questioningly. She scribbled something on the   
paper, put the marker back, and dragged him to the back of the   
store.  
  
To a room marked "Ladies." She knocked on the door. No answer.   
She wedged her makeshift sign under the plaque marked "Ladies,"   
and pushed the door open. Her left foot wouldn't move.  
  
"I ain't goin' in there," John said, standing his ground. She   
glared at him, pointing at her sign. 'Out of order.'  
  
"You have nice handwriting," he offered. He still wouldn't budge.  
  
"John!" she hissed, uselessly trying to pull her foot away. She   
gave up, quickly walked around him, and shoved him inside.  
  
"No one's coming in. Don't worry."  
  
She cast a sidelong glance at her neck in the mirror. She could   
barely even see the tiny cut where the implant had been.   
Satisfied, she kept walking toward the stalls.  
  
"You put your foot here and don't move," she directed John.  
  
And she closed the stall door.  
  
***  
  
"I was *not* going to go behind a bush," she said as they left the   
store.  
  
John wasn't paying attention. He was watching the silver car   
parked on the curb with the keys in the ignition. He would never   
cease to be amazed by some people's stupidity.  
  
He walked to the motorcycle, took the empty machine gun out of the   
saddle bag, and walked Monica over to the car.  
  
He opened the driver's door for her.  
  
"Scoot over." They both had to get in the same side of the car.  
  
"How come you always get to drive?" she complained mockingly.  
  
"Cuz that's how the cuffs are."  
  
Before the car's owner could come back, he drove the car out of   
the lot, back onto the highway.  
  
And so they drove for hours, intent on the road, too troubled to   
worry where they were, or where they were going. The sun was   
sinking below the horizon behind them.  
  
John looked at the dashboard. They were going to have to stop for   
gas soon.  
  
"Might as well look for somewhere to stay the night, too," Monica   
said, as though she'd read his mind.  
  
They found a motel a few miles down the road and decided they   
should stop for the night. Slightly worried about the fact that   
they *were* driving a stolen car, they parked it a mile away in   
the woods on the side of the road and walked from there.  
  
"I hope you've got your wallet. And some cash--wouldn't want them   
to track your credit card. I would offer to help pay for the   
room, but I have nothing," she said as they walked, motioning at   
her pocketless dress pants.  
  
He smiled a little and pulled his wallet out, counting his money.   
"Yeah, they didn't seem to mess with our--*my* pockets, luckily.   
Stupid, but lucky. Should have enough to get a room." He paused,   
thinking. "Guess it's gonna hafta be *one* room," he muttered,   
glaring at the cuffs around their ankles.  
  
It was dark as they reached the motel parking lot and Monica   
walked closer to John. Not because of the dark...  
  
"Hopefully they won't notice the cuffs," she said by way of   
explanation.  
  
The actual cuffs were hidden underneath the cuffs of their pants,   
but if someone was looking for it, they'd see the chain running   
between the two.  
  
They went into the registration building and to the front desk.  
  
"Hello, can I help you?" asked the woman behind the desk.  
  
"Yes, we were wondering if you had a free room?"  
  
They did, and John paid in cash. The woman gave him a key and   
directed him towards the room.  
  
"113. Lucky," Monica commented as they found the room.  
  
"Uh-huh." He opened the door and flicked the light switch. They   
went inside, closed the door, and surveyed the room. Table,   
chairs, couch, TV...and a double bed. Monica started walking and   
John quickly caught up to her. She plopped down on the couch,   
sighing. He sat next to her.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
  
"Nothin'. What makes you think anythin's wrong?"  
  
"You wouldn't want to hear it. Not that I wouldn't be able to   
tell anyway."  
  
"Oh, come on, Monica. Not this again."  
  
"What if I could prove it to you?" she asked, turning her head to   
look him in the eye.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Think of something--a person, an event. I'll tell you the   
emotions you associate with it. If I'm right...then I'm right.   
But you have to be honest with yourself."  
  
"Okay. Fine. Go."  
  
"Okay..." She thought for a minute. "Happiness. Love.   
Joy...Pride.....Awe. What was it?"  
  
He paused, thinking. She'd hit the nail on the head. Coincidence   
or not? "Luke's birth." He smiled a little, remembering.  
  
She smiled sadly, watching him. Then he looked at her.  
  
"Do it again."  
  
A pause, then: "Pride, patriotism, honor,   
worry...accomplishment..."  
  
"Day I became a cop." He paused. "Again."  
  
She sat for a minute, then her brow furrowed. "Oh, no...John, not   
that. Don't think about that. Just--" She winced slightly, and   
his mind went blank, switching to worry. The black, dark pain of   
Luke's death was *not* something either of them needed to dwell   
on. Although they both did, at times.  
  
She recovered her composure quickly, looking back up at him.  
  
"Okay, keep going. Now what?" She was actually liking this   
little game of theirs. She was curious to know anything he felt   
like sharing, and it was insightful for her.  
  
"Confusion and...fear. Fear? John, what was that?"  
  
"Anthony Tipet."  
  
"Oh." She remembered him. She'd been distraught for two whole   
days. John just kept entering into her mind--more often than   
normal. And this was when she was still in New Orleans.   
Suddenly, in the middle of a meeting with her AD and a whole table   
of her peers, she had to excuse herself. She'd felt something.   
She thought John was in danger--she had nothing to back up her   
idea, but she called him on her cell, just to check. That's when   
he told her about Anthony Tipet. She'd been amazed at how   
confused he was. He was actually buying into Tipet's whole third   
eye thing. That only made her worry more--he was not himself.   
But when she called back two days later to check on him again, he   
was back to normal. And he'd written off the perfect timing of   
her call--five minutes after Scully had woken him out of a   
nightmare--as a coincidence. -'I believe life is full of them.'-  
  
She shook her head to clear her mind and focused back on John.   
"One more," she said.  
  
"Okay. Go."  
  
She paused for a second. "Comfort...dull pain, confusion...   
love...friendship...familiarity... Lemme guess--Barbara?"  
  
"No..." he paused, looking at her. She suddenly felt   
uncomfortable under his gaze.  
  
Then he sat back, sinking into the couch, and sighed.  
  
"Who, then?" she demanded, suddenly desperately curious.  
  
"Mmmm. Not going to say. You guessed wrong."  
  
"Oh, come on, John You have to tell me!" She swatted him on the   
shoulder.  
  
"Nope. Not gonna..."  
  
"John!"  
  
"Okay, okay. Are you sure you want to know?"  
  
"Yes." She laughed. "Just tell me."  
  
"No...no. You already know. Or at least you should."  
  
"No. John! C'mon tell me," she pleaded.  
  
"You."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Now she sat back, too, and stared up at the ceiling.  
  
They both sat like that for awhile.  
  
"I really wish I could get a shower," she said finally. "I'm   
filthy."  
  
"You don't smell yet. You can wait." He leaned forward, studying   
their cuffs, then pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket and   
tried to pick the lock.  
  
He tried for fifteen minutes and got nowhere.  
  
"You know, that would've come in handy when we were tied up," she   
commented.  
  
"Uh-huh. Too late. Any good at picking locks?"  
  
"Nope. Certainly not any better than you, anyway."  
  
"Great. First thing in the morning, I'm gonna find a Home Depot."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Demo hack saw's gonna cut us loose."  
  
"Oh. Sounds like a plan."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
There was silence for a few minutes, then:  
  
"John?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are you tired yet?"  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"I asked first."  
  
"I paid for the room."  
  
"Okay, yeah, I am. So...?"  
  
"Me too."  
  
She yawned.  
  
"Don't do that. It's contagious."  
  
"Sorry. So can we sleep sometime tonight? I'm tired."  
  
"Yeah. Okay."  
  
He still sat there hunched over, fiddling with the lock. She   
could tell he was brooding. She wanted to stretch out flat on a   
nice, soft, spacious mattress, but it didn't look likely. She   
gave up on trying to get him to sleep, and, still reclining on the   
couch, closed her eyes. A split second later she was asleep.  
  
John continued to toy with the lock, but to no avail. He finally   
gave up, and looked over at Monica, who was still asleep. He   
wasn't about to spend the night on the couch, but he didn't want   
to wake Monica, either. Mindful of the cuffs, he picked her up,   
letting her chained leg hang down so he could walk. It was very   
awkward, to say the least, and he quickly walked over to the bed   
and laid her down as gently as possible. She stirred, but didn't   
wake. He took off their shoes, keeping his right foot on the bad   
so he didn't drag her off it. He wrestled the covers out from   
under her without waking her--an accomplishment in and of itself--  
and then crawled into his side of the bed, pulling the covers up   
over both of them. He faced away from Monica, closed his eyes,   
and tried to sleep. It did not come easily. Tomorrow they were   
definitely finding a Home Depot.  
  
***  
  
When John woke up, something was wrong. He looked down and   
quickly identified the problem. He'd rolled over in his sleep,   
and apparently Monica had, too, because she was happily curled up   
against his chest, still fast asleep. He simultaneously did and   
did not want her to wake up. He ended up just staying exactly   
where he was, watching her sleep. Some part of his rational mind   
told him to either go back to sleep or wake her up. But he didn't   
move. She muttered something unintelligible and he smiled.   
Monica Reyes talked in her sleep. He thought it was kind of   
funny, actually.  
  
Then she said something he did recognize.  
  
"John..." At first he thought she'd woken up, but when he looked   
down at her, she was still asleep.  
  
"What?" He answered her, just to see what would happen.  
  
She didn't answer at first, just squirmed around under the   
blanket, repositioning herself against him.  
  
He was on the verge of backing away or waking her when she   
frowned. She opened her eyes briefly, staring into John's collar.   
She closed her eyes again, as though it was nothing out of the   
ordinary. Then her eyes flew open as she realized where she was.  
  
John just watched her silently, a twinkle in his eyes and a wide   
smile on his face. He thought her reaction to all this was very   
funny.  
  
"John, I-" She stopped, not knowing what to say. A quick glance   
behind her told her she was in more trouble than she thought.   
John was on his side of the bed, problem was, so was she. She   
slowly backed away from him. "I-uh..."  
  
Then she noticed he was silently laughing at her. She was about   
to die of embarrassment.  
  
"What's so funny?" she demanded, trying to erase the past two   
minutes from her mind.  
  
He tried, and failed, to stop laughing. The incredulous look on   
Monica's face wasn't helping.  
  
"Nothin'," he answered, propping himself up with an elbow.  
  
"Uh-huh, thought so." She rolled her eyes.  
  
"You know you talk in your sleep?" he asked, though it was really   
more of a statement.  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too. I heard you."  
  
"Really?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.  
  
"How many Johns do you know?"  
  
Her face was a picture of shock and mortification. He just   
laughed again.  
  
"Shut up, John." She shoved him slightly.  
  
"Don't push me," he said jokingly. "I might fall off the bed."  
  
"No you won't." She pushed him again, smiling.  
  
He wasn't very far from the edge of the bed, and slid off, just   
for reaction's sake. He landed on the floor on his back, dragging   
Monica halfway across the bed, and bringing half the covers with   
him. His cuffed leg was still on the bed, and he tried to pull it   
down. Monica was trying to keep from being pulled any farther,   
but...  
  
"John, no..." she said vaguely, but he ignored her. He brought   
his leg down and Monica followed, along with the rest of the   
blankets. She landed in an odd position, half on him, half   
leaning into the bed. He scooted away, and she ended up on the   
floor next to him, almost under the bed. They both were tangled   
in the bedclothes. John just laughed. She mock-glared at him.  
  
"You did that on purpose!"  
  
"Did what?"  
  
"Oh grow up." She tried to sound annoyed, but failed miserably as   
a smile crossed her face and she dissolved into giggles. She   
buried her face in his shoulder as she laughed. He just watched   
her, and listened to her laugh. He was glad he could make her   
happy.  
  
Then he looked across the room where the digital clock glared at   
him with glowing red numbers.  
  
"Hey Monica," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  
  
She looked up at him.  
  
"We should get going. It's almost nine."  
  
"I don't want to get up," she complained. "Let's just stay here.   
They'll never find us. We can hide under the bed." She laughed   
again, rolling away from him, under the bed.  
  
"No, come on, we gotta go. They're gonna close the free breakfast   
thing in an hour."  
  
The thought of food brought her out from under the bed. They   
hadn't eaten since...a long time ago.  
  
John stood up, or tried to, considering he was still tangled in   
the covers and Monica wasn't moving.  
  
"I can't get up," she groaned.  
  
He pulled her to her feet and looked her in the eye.  
  
"Think about breakfast."  
  
"Okay, let's go. Now."  
  
John tossed the blankets on the bed and followed Monica out of the   
room.  
  
***  
  
After eating their fill at the motel's continental breakfast, they   
were back on the road.  
  
"Where are we going?" Monica asked.  
  
"To Home Depot," came the reply. No big plan.  
  
"So," he said, curious. "What was your dream about?"  
  
"Hm? Oh...nothing. I don't always remember what I dream about..."  
  
"But you remember *this* dream...Don't you?" He glanced at her.  
  
She looked away uncomfortably. She couldn't lie to him, but...  
  
"A little, maybe," she allowed.  
  
"So..." he prompted.  
  
She hesitated.  
  
"It was about work. I always dream about work."  
  
She hoped he'd leave it to that.  
  
He didn't.  
  
"What about work? Why d'you always dream about work?"  
  
"Because. I just do." She smiled and shook her head. He knew he   
was getting to her.  
  
"Aw, come on, Monica. I wanna hear your metaphysical explanation   
of your dreams. Your subconscious and symbolism and stuff."  
  
He *wanted* to hear? "Subconscious?" she said, skeptically.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Okay. Maybe I dream about work because...I like my job. And my   
co-worker.s. Co-worker*s*." She was digging herself a hole.  
  
"So what do *you* dream about, John?"  
  
"I dunno. I don't dream."  
  
"Everybody dreams, John. C'mon, I told you mine..."  
  
"No you didn't. 'Work' doesn't constitute an explanation."  
  
"Well, you were the one listening to me...You should already know   
what my dream was about," she teased.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Wow, *John*. I thought you'd never guess."  
  
"Well, you know. I could just tell. I mean, you know. I just   
got this feeling..." He was teasing her.  
  
She laughed, and hit him on the shoulder. "Shut up, John."  
  
He sighed. There were no turnoffs on this road, and he wasn't   
seeing any stores either. It was like they were in the middle of   
nowhere.  
  
"Do you have any idea where we might be?" he asked.  
  
"No..."  
  
He turned on the radio, hoping to get a clue as to where they   
were. No such luck. He couldn't find any channels. Maybe the   
radio was broken...he hoped. They couldn't be that far in the   
middle of nowhere.  
  
***  
  
It was late afternoon before they found any streets intersecting   
theirs. After driving around for awhile, they found a hardware   
store. For all intents and purposes, it could be a Home Depot.  
  
This time there was nowhere to hide the car, so they parked it in   
the lot, made sure to lock the doors, and headed for the store.  
  
"If anybody asks, we're a happy new couple, looking for a   
nice...light. For our new house," said Monica.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If we go in there in black suits looking to buy a hack   
saw...we're going to raise a little suspicion."  
  
"Uh-huh." He thought for a second. "Newlyweds?" he asked   
skeptically.  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"Isn't that going to raise suspicion by itself?"  
  
"Why would it?"  
  
"Well, people our age aren't exactly in the newlywed category..."  
  
"There's some solid logic. And *that* makes us very suspicious.   
Besides, John, people our age get married. Or we-they could if   
they want to." She paused, considering her jumbled statement.   
She wished she could take it back...she settled on changing the   
subject.  
  
"Are you calling me old?"  
  
"No," he said, looking at her. And she got the feeling he was   
looking her over. She focused on the cracked asphalt of the   
parking lot. Then John started talking again. "But we're not   
exactly fresh out of college, either."  
  
They reached the doors thoughtful. Monica slipped her hand into   
John's.  
  
"Think happy couple."  
  
"Monica, look at this--lighting's all the way on the other side of   
the store."  
  
"So hope we don't run into any friendly associates."  
  
Just then, a young man in a bright blue tool apron approached   
them.  
  
"Can I help you two with anything?"  
  
Monica tried to smile and nudged John to do the same.  
  
He just answered, "No, I think we can find it."  
  
"Are you sure? Lemme help. It's my first day on the job and I   
actually want to *do* something."  
  
John looked like he was about to strangle the kid, who was   
probably not more than eighteen years old.  
  
"No, I really don't think-"  
  
"Oh, no, really. What are you looking for?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
Monica took over for him.  
  
"We were looking for a light, actually. For our new house," she   
added, trying not to enjoy the little scenario she'd made up as   
much as she did.  
  
"Oooohh. Just hitched?"  
  
"How'd you guess?" The kid was clueless. But persistent.  
  
John glared at her. She just smiled back.  
  
"Okay, follow me. I'll show you the lighting department."  
  
He turned and started walking away from them. Monica started to   
follow, but John wasn't moving. She looked at him. He pointed in   
the other direction--towards the saws.  
  
'Freedom,' he mouthed at her.  
  
"John. Come on."  
  
The sales associate had realized by now that they weren't   
following him. He turned to look back at them.  
  
"You guys coming or what?"  
  
John set his jaw, not a good sign to Monica, and they followed the   
boy to the lighting department.  
  
"Thanks for your help," John said when they got there, trying to   
get rid of the guy.  
  
"Sure. You want me to help you look at some of them?"  
  
-Help us look?- John could not believe his ears.  
  
"No, that's okay. I think we'll just browse--"  
  
"Really. I can show you all the best lamps..."  
  
Monica hung on John's arm and gave him a look of desperation.  
  
This was going to be a *long* trip.  
  
***  
  
For over an hour, they'd tried unsuccessfully to get rid of their   
new worst nightmare. Nothing worked. Finally, they gave up and   
left.  
  
"If you ever decide to come back," he called after them through   
the closing doors, "I'll still be here to help."  
  
"Just what I wanted to hear," John muttered as he stalked towards   
the car.  
  
Monica was adjusting to his pace when she tripped on an uneven   
part of the asphalt and went flying. He caught her arm and   
instead of falling flat on her face, she only nearly had her   
shoulder dislocated. He helped her regain her balance and let go   
of her arm.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"How was that your fault?" she asked, half-smiling. "I'm just   
clumsy."  
  
"Yeah. Well, that and sorry for not gettin' us uncuffed."  
  
"No big deal. We'll get it eventually." She looked at the sky.   
The sun was starting to set. "We should find somewhere to eat.   
Or I guess get takeout. Can't sit at a table unless we're on one   
side of a booth. And that...could work, I guess."  
  
"Takeout's fine. Don't wanna look too suspicious," he added,   
giving her a look.  
  
"Point taken."  
  
As they pulled out of the lot, John noticed a black car start up   
and follow them out. He didn't say anything though, and a short   
time later it disappeared from view. He dismissed it as paranoia.  
  
They got food from a local fast food place and hit the road again.  
  
"Figure we can get a few more hours in before we find another   
motel," he said.  
  
"Yeah. John, there's just one thing. Where *are* we going?"  
  
"Home. We're somewhere west. So we're going east."  
  
He took out a map he'd gotten from the restaurant's lobby area.  
  
"Oh. Okay." She settled back into her chair. "I'm going to keep   
an eye out for a motel."  
  
Several hours later, she was staring out her window. Her gaze   
drifted to the mirror on her side of the car. There were two cars   
behind them, but other than that, the road seemed pretty deserted.   
Both of the cars looked to be black, maybe even the same kind of   
car, but it was dark so she couldn't be sure. Just as she   
couldn't be sure they were being followed, though she expected it.  
  
"John, turn on the next street you come to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I think we're being followed."  
  
He didn't answer, just took a right on the next side street, then   
a left, ending up on a road parallel to the one they'd just been   
on. Monica was twisted around uncomfortably in her chair,   
watching the twin black cars follow them.  
  
She sighed and turned back around. "I guess if they're not going   
to *do* anything to us at the moment..."  
  
"We'll just drive for awhile. See what they do."  
  
Despite John's calm demeanor, Monica could feel the car speed up   
as he pushed the accelerator.  
  
***  
  
"John, you're falling asleep."  
  
"No I'm not. I'm fine. We can't stop anyway, with those cars--"  
  
"Okay, but...talk then. It'll help keep you awake."  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"How about...What you do, outside of work."  
  
"You don't wanna know. It'll put you to sleep."  
  
"No it won't. I'm a captive audience, John."  
  
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Literally."  
  
"C'mon, John. Unless you have a better idea."  
  
"If I don't talk, you'll never let me alone."  
  
"You're probably right." She smiled.  
  
"Huh. After work. I go home, toss a TV dinner in the microwave,   
and fall asleep on the couch. Or if I'm lucky I make it upstairs   
to bed. Wake up, shower, dress, eat breakfast, read the   
newspaper, drive to work. I don't have a very interesting life,   
Monica. Can't say I didn't warn you."  
  
"Oh, come on. Don't you have guys you hang out with? You know,   
go to bars, watch football...all that guy stuff. You've been in   
DC longer than I have..."  
  
He sighed. "Not anymore. Not with this job."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Guy's friendships aren't very...strong. That's one thing about   
women--they're loyal. I remember Barb and her friends...couldn't   
separate them. But that's different. I used to...used to grab a   
beer with friends after work every day, watch football at   
someone's house. Yeah, stuff like that. But whenever they'd   
mention work--after this job, it's just...it definitely limits who   
you can be friends with, y'know? And those people who I'd be   
limited to...I wouldn't fit in with them, either." He tried to   
pick his words carefully. "That just leaves me you and those   
spontaneous Friday nights," he said, sounding less subtle and more   
desperate than he'd hoped for. He almost regretted the words as   
soon as he said them.  
  
She had a huge smile on her face when he dared to look at her,   
though, and as they passed under a street light, he could see that   
her eyes were wet.  
  
"I'll just have to drag you out of your house more often. That   
is, if you think we 'fit' together."  
  
"If I didn't, why do you think I let you drag me out on Friday   
nights?"  
  
She laughed. "I don't know John."  
  
Suddenly a light started blinking on the dashboard.  
  
"We're almost out of gas. I've been looking for a gas station for   
miles, but I haven't seen any."  
  
"Me neither. What do we do? Wait until it stops running?"  
  
"I guess. Then make a run for it."  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me."  
  
John stepped on the gas pedal, trying to put some distance between   
them and the black cars. The black cars sped up as well. Monica   
kept her eyes glued to the cars out the back window.  
  
"John, they're gaining on us!"  
  
"Okay. We're going to pull over now."  
  
He veered off the road, slamming on the brakes. They both rushed   
to get out of Monica's side of the car as the black cars screeched   
to a halt not three yards from them. The man in the black suit   
got out of the first car.  
  
They turned and ran towards the slope leading down away from the   
road.  
  
"Stop!"  
  
The voice was not that of the man in the suit. It was a voice   
they recognized--Skinner's.  
  
"Assistant Director?" John yelled back. He stopped and turned   
around, putting his hand on Monica's wrist to be sure she was   
still there. As if she could go anywhere else.  
  
"You mind explainin' this?" John asked, squinting in the   
brightness of the cars' headlights.  
  
"I'll explain it later, Agent Doggett. Right now, you're both   
obviously in no condition to drive. You'll stay the night in a   
motel a few miles from here. I'll explain in the morning. You   
and Agent Reyes get in the car."  
  
"That man kidnapped us," said Monica, nodding in the direction of   
the man in the suit.  
  
"I know."  
  
"*You* know," said John, skeptical.  
  
"Just get in the car."  
  
John eyed him for a minute, then started towards the car.  
  
"Wait," he said suddenly. "What about these?" He motioned at the   
cuffs.  
  
"When you get in the car."  
  
John glared at him, and they both got in the back seat. Skinner   
got in the driver's seat and handed them back a small key and a   
credit card.  
  
"Use that to pay for the motel."  
  
John took it and bent to unlock their cuffs.  
  
***  
  
John sighed as he opened the door to their *one* room.  
  
"Figures they'd have one room left."  
  
"It's not that bad. There's a couch," she said, dropping herself   
down on it.  
  
John closed the door and walked over to her.  
  
"Yeah, well, get up."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I wanna go to sleep. You got the bed."  
  
"No, you're more tired than I am. You drove the whole way.   
Besides, I got here first." She lay down, facing the back of the   
couch.  
  
"Monica," he started.  
  
"Don't bother me, John, I'm trying to sleep," she said with a   
smile.  
  
Oh, he was going to get her for this. He sat on the corner of the   
bed and waited, trying desperately not to fall asleep. After what   
had to be at least half an hour, maybe more, he quietly walked   
over to her, listening. He could tell from her slow, rhythmic   
breathing that she was asleep.  
  
He gently picked her up, smiling involuntarily as her hand closed   
around his wrist. He carried her over to the bed as he had done   
the night before, though this time without the impediment of the   
cuffs. He slowly pried her fingers loose from around his wrist   
and let her arm fall back to her side. He pulled the covers over   
her, and just stood there watching her for a moment. He was   
tempted to talk to her while she was asleep, just to see if she   
would answer. He decided against it, though; he wouldn't want her   
to wake up and see him standing there staring at her.  
  
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand rest   
against her face for a second as he had done when she was in the   
hospital not too long ago. He saw a smile tug at the corners of   
her mouth, and smiled back.  
  
"'Night, Monica," he whispered, and walked back over to the couch,   
lowering himself onto it with a sigh. He was asleep before he   
knew it.  
  
***  
  
Monica woke up sprawled out on a bed. A bed? She looked up to   
see John lying on the couch, watching her. He almost looked   
guilty for a second when he met her gaze, but then his eyes were   
full of mischief.  
  
"Whatever you're thinking, I *do not* sleepwalk!"  
  
That wasn't what he expected to hear, but he'd take what he could   
get.  
  
"Are you sure?" He smiled.  
  
"Come on, John. You know I don't sleepwalk..."  
  
"*I* know?"  
  
She laughed. "You just won't lose, will you?"  
  
"No." He stood up. "Come on, let's go see if we can hunt down   
Skinner. I wanna know what all this is about."  
  
She got up, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to synchronize   
her steps anymore.  
  
To their surprise, they found him sitting in a parked car right   
outside their room. They both felt slightly uncomfortable with   
the idea that he'd been sitting right outside their room all   
night.  
  
He and the man in the black suit got out of opposite sides of the   
black car and approached them. The other black car and the silver   
one they'd stolen were nowhere in sight. John mentally heaved a   
sigh at the thought that they were both going to be relegated to   
the back seat of the small car. Again.  
  
"Agent Doggett; Agent Reyes," Skinner said by way of a greeting.  
  
"Assistant Director," John said back. Monica just gave a weak   
smile. John continued. "You gonna explain all this now?"  
  
"Yes. But not here," he said, and turned around.  
  
John sighed and they followed the two men back to the car.  
  
-It's the small things that count- Monica thought as she and John   
got in on opposite sides of the car.  
  
Skinner started talking.  
  
"This whole thing...has been staged. Your abduction," John   
cringed at the word, "the people following you..."  
  
The man in the suit took over.  
  
"It was part of a test. And I must say, you performed fairly   
well, although you caused some difficulty with stealing a   
motorcycle and a vehicle. The respective owners were rather   
unhappy."  
  
"Glad to hear it," John grumbled. "You still haven't told us   
why."  
  
"We wanted it to look like a kidnapping so your absence would not   
look suspicious, and we wanted to test you to see how well you   
worked together. Hence the cuffs. They also provided a   
convenient place for a back-up transmitter after you found and   
removed the other one."  
  
"So...What is this all about? Why go to all this trouble?" asked   
Monica.  
  
"We have a job for you."  
  
  
~fin.  
  
A/N: There is probably a sequel coming. Maybe. And this is one   
of those 'suspend your disbelief' things (for anything that makes   
absolutely no sense—-like why they are rolling around on the floor   
of their cell laughing their heads off. or the weird dialogue.   
all I can say is, I wrote the fic. if you think you can help me   
not be so bad-maybe in need a beta. (maybe not.) email me.). I   
think this ended up as more of a series of vignettes stretched   
across something pretending to be a plot...so...feedback?  
  
last thing: the whole two people tied together part was semi-  
stolen from an Enterprise episode—'Shadows of P'Jem'. Just   
covering all my bases.  
  
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com 


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